Contradictions
by Exia
Summary: There is nothing shared between them. Nothing the same. Except this moment.
1. The Moment

It was pain and pleasure.

Heat and cold.

Day and night.

All of those opposites that can never really be separated were here, in this moment, shining for all to see, and hidden in shadow so dark that no light could penetrate it. A mixture of contradictions was what it was, a puzzle.

Yes, a puzzle, that was a good word.

And yet, even that didn't really explain the feeling, the emotion that filled up the moment till it seemed to burst at the seams, and yet, wafted between the two of them as amorphous as a soft summer breeze. They were a study in contradictions, each of them so very different from the other. Looks, personality, heritage, not a single thing was shared between them. Even their interests were polar opposites.

_He_ was moonlight and sunbeams.

_She_ was tilled earth and fire.

_He_ believed in blood superiority, in a heritage that went back hundreds of years.

_She_ was the Mudblood, born of non-magical parents, containing no heritage at all.

So different

And exactly the same.

Did it matter, really, that he was the next heir of the Malfoy line? Did it matter, really, that her parents were dentists, not rich, but not poor? Did it matter that he had been raised to hate everything that she embodied? That she had come to hate everything _he_ embodied? Did it matter? Did it really?

Yes.

And that was what made it so sad, so pitiful, so beautiful, so _perfect_. There was nothing special about this moment. _Nothing._ Two not-quite-strangers bumped into each other accidentally, trying to bypass each other in a crowded shop. Happens all the time. These two had interacted before, in much the same manner, several months ago. It happened then, as it should have now; with two cool 'excuse me's and both moving on with their lives.

But things were different this time.

And they were exactly the same.

There was a sale going on, which was what had drawn them both here in the first place. Happens all the time. When two people try to occupy the same place at the same time; that is, try to enter the doorway of the shop, a collision is bound to occur. And thus it did.

Chest to shoulder, something in her bag jabbed him sharply in the side and he grunted from the impact.

"Oh, I'm sorry-" she stops when she realizes that this in not a person she should be kind to.

"Indeed," was the dry response he gave, as polite as he could be to someone of her lineage.

_She_ turned away, with just the slightest bit of flounce in her step, entering the shop ahead of him.

_He_ made a grimace, and vowed to take a bath as soon as he returned home to get the _mudblood_ off of him.

And yet….and yet.

For a moment there, for a brief flicker of time, for the smallest of small moments, he had looked her in the eye. And there had been no hate.

Even after recognition had struck. Even after he knew that he had touched Hermione Granger, and even after she knew that this was the much sought after Draco Malfoy, there was a moment in which the only thing between the two of them was nothing but surprise.

Perhaps this can explain the contradiction floating between the two of them now as they go about their business of shopping. Stolen glances, casual waves that turn into a straightening of the clothes, even the one time when he came up behind her and surrounded her with his heat, just so that he could reach up with one long arm and grab a book from the case in front of which she was standing.

He could have waited.

She could have moved.

And yet…and yet.

The moment continued to stretch between them, tangible and intangible, disgust and curiosity, wavering back and forth like a string that had been plucked, far beyond the moment when he had replaced the book and moved away; far beyond the point where she curled her lip at him and made a rude sound in the back of her throat as he walked off.

It lingered.

It fled.

Yet neither of them could deny that it had existed, _continued_ to exist, that split second when he had looked in her eyes and realized that they weren't really a muddy brown, but rather an attractive hazel, with a starburst of green in their center and a dark ring of almost black at their edges. And when _she_ had looked in _his_ eyes and realized that they weren't _really_ the color of angry storm clouds but, perhaps, more like the shine of her new silver car, or the mercury in her thermometer as it reflected the sunlight. Or, perhaps, the color of her new engagement ring she had gotten just the night before from a bouncing, and nervous Ron Weasley. She never had liked regular gold, so white gold it was.

And so were his eyes.

Eventually, they went their separate ways, each of them having acquired the objects that they desired, both determined to forget that such an event had occurred, was _still_ occurring, for she could not stop herself from watching him walk away.

And neither could he.

ooOO00OOoo

Well that was…odd.

I've never written anything like this before. I had no idea where I was going with this. I started by writing contradictions down, hence the list. And then a 'moment' filled with contradictions showed up, and I had no idea what was going on. And then…and then…I was finished and I had to read what I had just written because I think it's beautiful and I'll never be able to do something like this again. I hope you like it too.


	2. Like a candle in the wind

For the rest of her life, Hermione was struck, at odd times, like when she was putting on a shirt and only had one sleeve on, with the remembrance of that strange encounter.

She never attested much to it. Most often she would simply say that she was imagining things and move on with her life. Still…there was a niggling sense of doubt that refused to leave her, and in her weak moments, she would convince herself that there was a spark there; an indefinable something that had the potential to turn into so much more. _If_ she'd had the courage to seek it.

Which she didn't.

Her life was placid now, and peaceful. Her passionate amour with Ron had cooled to a warm love, and that love was what sustained her through the days into the much more passionate nights. At least that part of her life had not faded. Ron was a kind and considerate lover, always assuring her satisfaction before reaching his own, which was obvious in the number of children they had. Having just given birth to number four, Hermione was disinclined to allow Ron and his baby-maker any closer than it took for him to take the newest little Weasley terror off her hands for a little bit so she could get some much needed, and well deserved rest. As she looked around her life, Hermione could not help but feel content.

And yet…and yet.

That moment had existed.

In her quiet moments, when the babies were all asleep, and so was her husband, in the darkness of the night, with nothing but an occasional hoot of a passing owl, Hermione would go into the pantry, a space entirely hers since Ron could never, and would never be able to cook, and dig out an old candle from the back. It had no distinguishing marks, beyond a slightly flatter than normal end when one of her children had come looking for her once after a night terror and caused her to drop the thing, and had no connection to Draco Malfoy whatsoever.

And yet…and yet.

Somehow…it reminded her of him. It was a simple candle, one of the tall ones, meant to be held in an old-fashioned wall sconce. And it was white. It had scratches and blemishes from being shoved in the back of the pantry, the flattened end from when she had dropped it, and of course, the wick was blackened and curled from when she would place it on the table with a simple sticking charm and light it, so she could stare pensively into its flame.

As she did tonight.

As she had done many nights.

A candle. Such a simple thing, and yet, so many people and cultures had placed so much importance upon just such a thing. The druids, strange people that they were, insisted on using only white candles during their meetings held during the dead of the night. Some wizards refused to draw runes unless they were done under the light of a pure white candle, saying it purified the magics involved. So many uses, so many purposes, and yet, white candles were somehow the hardest ones to find. She had only ever seen this one in a shop before and, knowing its rarity, she had snatched it up, unknowing of the important role it would come to serve in her own life.

Because it was, you see, during these quiet moments when she stared into the white candle's flame, that she would wonder, and dream.

Dream of another life, lived with another man.

Dream of passionate days and quiet, murmurs in the dark.

Of pain and pleasure.

Of heat and cold.

Of day and night.

Dream of Draco Malfoy.

ooOO00OOoo

When I wrote the first chapter, I had no intention of making it into a multi-chaptered thing. But, even as I submitted it, ideas began to form about what could happen in the future for these two, and so, I am proud to give you chapter two in what will be a three-chapter story. This one details what would have happened had they gone their separate ways and not allowed that moment to change their lives. The next, written from Draco's point of view, will detail what could have happened if it had had a more profound impact on their lives then even I could have imagined.


	3. Compromises

It started with the Moment.

Even in his memory, the thing loomed up, large and unconquerable, refusing to bow down and fade under the impact of time. Refusing to take a back seat to any other memory, it remained in the forefront of his mind, eternally present, endlessly clear, the Moment when it had all changed.

Of course, nobody had _known_ that it was a Moment. Perhaps things would not have turned out as they did if it had been common knowledge. But, a Moment it was, and it had ripples spreading out over such vast areas that one must ask themselves how something so momentous had gone so unremarked.

And still, the memory refused to fade.

They had gone to the store, each arriving at separate points on Diagon Alley, and each making their way innocently towards the shop with the big 'Clearance Sale' sign waving cheerily in the breeze over a very busy section of the street. Each, not noticing the other, had tried to ender the door at the same time, and had consequently bumped into each other. And then….the Moment.

After that, he was different, he felt_ changed._

Like the Moment though, the change went on unremarked, disguising itself as a feeling of disgust towards the person he had bumped into, the one person who _changed_ him.

Hermione Malfoy.

Even now, the thought made him giddy, causing in him and absurd urge to dance a jig, a move that had him marching in place while his hands were clenched in fists and his head remained bowed, though a ridiculous and floppy grin spread across his features and he ended the move by thrusting one hand up in the air and giving a crow of delight.

"…Draco?"

His wife's voice.

Quickly lowering his fist, Draco smoothed his slightly rumpled clothing and turned to face her with a properly subdued manner.

"Yes?"

"What were you…?" and then she stopped. No need to ask, she'd seen it before. Many times.

He was celebrating his victory over Ron Weasley. Dancing his delight over snatching her out from under Weasley's nose. She wouldn't have made a very good Weasley anyway.

Shaking her head in loving exasperation, his wife simply walked over to him and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "I'm going to bed." She said softly, her lovely, beautiful, _wonderful_ hazel eyes shining at him with love.

"I'll try to keep it down." Draco acknowledged gravely. Bending down, he spoke now to her stomach. "And you do the same, you hear me? Your mother needs her rest, she's got speeches to give tomorrow."

That was child four.

A girl, Draco would insist, and Hermione always responded with horror. "Another one? Draco, we already have three, why don't you want a boy? An heir?"

And, inevitable as the tide, Draco would respond, "Why would I want another bloke to vie for my girls attentions?"

Alone again, Draco turned back to the library and continued her perusal of books. He was nervous about tomorrow, and couldn't sleep. It was the last of a long line of debates that he and his wife had been participating in, and it was also one that could very well change the foundation of their culture.

The ripples had returned.

Vicious little buggers that they were, Draco could not, and had no desire to, regret their presence. They had, after all, led him to Hermione.

It had been a long process, and one that had many chances at failing, many obstacles standing in its way. Two of which were their engagements to other people. Draco to a woman he'd met at a party two years past, and Hermione to her boyfriend of four years.

But it was more than significant others that stood in their way. _They_ stood in their way. Each of them was too stubborn to admit wrong, too obstinate to admit that their way of thinking might be slightly skewed and beyond that, downright _wrong._

_He_ had detested anything and everything Muggle, including those witches and wizards who had Muggle blood.

_She_ detested anything and everything pureblood, with the exception of Ron Weasley, and he was anti-pureblood himself.

_He_ loved Quiddich.

_She_ detested it as a violent and bloody sport that did more harm than good.

_His_ parents would kill him for showing interest in a Mudblood.

_Her_ parents didn't care who she married as long as she loved them.

They were so very different.

They were so much alike.

And none of it changed with the Moment.

His parents had refrained from disowning him only because that would mean an end of the Malfoy line. Hermione had lost her boyfriend of four years, and her friend in the bargain. Each of them had given up so much for the other, and none of it was easy.

First it was the smaller things. Draco eventually stopped thinking of her as a disgusting Mudblood, and started thinking of her as a mildly talented witch. Hermione learned to love his pureblood heritage more than he did, seeing the beauty in the old dances, and the dignity of the codes of honor.

It was a slow process.

It was a painful process.

And it was entirely unwilling.

Love was not present, at least not in the beginning. They were forced together, time and time again, each of them on opposite sides of various political and personal arguments. They would argue heatedly about their chosen topics, stopping only short of personal insults in their desire to get their points across.

It was maddening for him .And he never wanted to do it again.

And yet…and yet.

There was something beautiful about those years, the straining and pushing that had existed between them. Neither of them had given up, each of them refusing to back down until the other one came around to their way of thinking. And so they had.

Somewhere in there, they had each realized that their respective partners were not the ones for them, and while Draco had at once unceremoniously dropped his, Hermione had taken far longer to come to terms with her realization.

So, they were single and arguing still, their debates becoming the stuff of legends.

And then, their Moment came back with a vengeance. And Draco had suddenly known that _this_ was a woman worthy of him. _This_ was a woman worthy of his name; regardless of who she had been born from, _this_ woman was one he could happily love for the rest of his life.

And Hermione had known it too.

After the revelation that wasn't a revelation once they sat down and thought about it, Draco and Hermione turned their attention to the rest of the world, demanding that everyone else open their eyes and ears just as they had demanded such of each other. And so, their true debates began, them against the entire wizarding world; both of them determined to show everyone else that love can flourish in the strangest places.

It was exhausting, it was thrilling.

It was more then he could bear sometimes, and yet he never wanted to stop.

His life was filled with contradictions these days, and he was constantly reinventing himself, as was Hermione. Neither of them would consent to being the only one to give into a relationship, and new problems were always cropping up because of their separate histories, and so they changed.

Draco gave up his fondness for intimidating house elves, and Hermione gave up on S.P.E.W. Draco finally explained to Hermione the true workings of Quiddich and the safety precautions in place and Hermione finally gave up on despising the game, though she never truly enjoyed it.

Their lives were filled with compromises, and Draco wouldn't have it any other way.

ooOO00OOoo

Whew! It's done. Never would I have expected something like this to roll off of the tips of my fingers. I guess we can all surprise ourselves as well as others. I think that the quality of storytelling dropped off sharply at the end of this one, but I've lost the frame of mind that allowed me to write the first chapter, so this will have to do. Hope you enjoyed it! Tootles!


End file.
